Hope

 Today, a much-desired outcome slipped from my grasp, leaving instead a choice I not only didn't want, but also feared. A choice with potentially dire outcomes and repercussions beyond my little corner of the world. 

But I still have hope. It's tiny -- a wisp of a thing, really -- seemingly hard to grasp and easy to lose. 

And, to tell the truth, it is both.

But it's mine. And, unless I relinquish it, it stays with me. It comforts me, brings me perspective, and reminds me that while my peace of mind can be disrupted, it cannot be corrupted unless I allow that to happen.

An illusion, you say. Perhaps even a delusion?

Maybe. But I believe hope is as real as I make it. 

By itself, hope cannot effect a change, turn back a clock, or change an outcome. But it can help me effect a change, find light in the darkness, or make a change. It can extend a hand, pull me out of the quicksand, and remind me that one outcome determines neither my power nor my value.

And so I will hope. Relentlessly. I will nurture that tiny wisp of a thing, clinging on to it stubbornly even if -- especially if -- someone tries to wrest it away. I will use it as fuel on the days when I cannot muster up enough power to drag myself out of the muck and onto dry land.

Though it is small, it is powerful -- immune to dissolution through tears, anger, or criticism -- and always large enough to be shared.

And I will gladly share mine with you.

Why My Writing is Floating Downstream with Me Doggy Paddling Along Behind It

  Spoiler alert: As I type this, I don't know the answer to the dilemma posed in this title. But two weeks ago, I stumbled onto a potential solution.  

It worked! And then it didn't. 

In other words, it was a good starting point, with potential to both solve the problem and run into roadblocks.

Either way, I've been loving the book that inspired it: Still Writing, by Dani Shapiro. When I paged through it in my local bookstore, I thought it would be an interesting read. Almost immediately, it was so much more. Part validation, part inspiration, it reminded me that when I run into roadblocks, there are likely to be other writers standing just a few feet away, trying to figure out how to get around the same obstacle.

I've been dipping into Still Writing for the past two weeks, an essay or two at a time. I've also been listening to student presentations on chapters of Katy Milkman's How to Change, chapters that focus on creating habits, being flexible, and giving oneself grace. Together, these two books have definitely influenced the kinder, gentler approach I'm taking as I work on another of my favorite task: setting monthly goals.

Since today is the beginning of a new month, I worked on my goals, tracking my successes for October and establishing priorities for November. And, as you can imagine, writing goals are always part of the plan. The ones I set today are less confining and more in keeping with the idea that writing is a roller coaster. Some days, I'm ready to do the long, slow climb up the hill; other days, I want to fly down the other side, unencumbered by the hard parts, enjoying the ride. Both have value.

Whether we're talking rides or writing.

The Writing News that Isn't Really News

 Whenever I hit a writing slump, I worry that it's permanent. This post from 2022 reminds me that this, too, shall pass. 

At least I hope so. 

Lately, writing has been more challenging for me than usual. A combination of life changes (an all-too-sudden re-emptied nest) and work obligations have put both concentration and time at a premium. I'm finding this especially frustrating in a semester where, on paper, I was supposed to have fewer work obligations than usual.

So much for the best-laid plans.

Tonight, as I sit here trying to craft a blog post much too late in the evening, I find myself thinking about my writer's wish list (and not for the first time). Writing is easiest when I have...

Time. Not just any time -- prime time. That time of day when the brain is at its peak and thoughts flow easily instead of having to be jump-started every thirty seconds. 

An open schedule. To be honest, this is both good and bad. Too much time makes procrastination a real possibility. Too little time and it's easy to give up when the going gets tough. But when time feels expansive, creativity is more likely to follow.

A clear head. Lately, I've had so much going on that even when I get to my writing at a decent time of day, I find it hard to focus. When I take a few minutes to re-focus, things go much more smoothly.

Cool supplies. There's nothing like the perfect notebook or a just-right pen to provide just the right touch of inspiration.

A work space that works. Not too cluttered, not too noisy and not too distracting. Just right.

The perfect project. Currently, I have multiple projects going. I'm a mood-driven writer, so it's nice to be able to choose the one that seems just right for the time and mental space I have available.

Very few writers have the perfect set-up on a regular basis, especially if "writer" is only one of the hats they wear. But, oh, on those days when it all comes together....

...there are so many possibilities. 

Habit

 To say my writing isn't going well is an understatement. The fact is, it's really not going.

At all.

Now, before any of my kind-hearted friends jump in to console, rationalize, or advise, please let me stop you. I've done all of these things already. 

None of them solve the problem.

Yes, it's true that my schedule is busy. Yes, it's true that my job isn't one I can leave at the office. Yes, it's  true that my job and my writing both draw from the same well of creativity, and that well isn't limitless. Yes, it's true that my main project right now involves revising and submitting, which are my least favorite parts of this writing gig.

But these are issues that many (if not all) writers face. And they go on to write books anyway. 

Identifying these obstacles doesn't solve the problem, but it takes me a bit closer. To solve a problem, after all, one needs to identify it, along with potential solutions.

One afternoon last week (when I could have been writing), I took advantage of the beautiful day and the flexibility of my work schedule to go downtown. I had an order to pick up at one of the stores, which just happened to be across the street from an independent bookstore.

Of course I had to go in.

Although they didn't have the book I was looking for, they had plenty of others. I hate to leave a bookstore (especially a small, independent bookstore) empty-handed, so I came home with two new books and a fun new must-have item. (More on that in my next Friday Feature).

One of the books was a book about writing. 

With few exceptions, I've never been a big fan of writing prompts, how-to books, or books about writing, but this slim volume of reflections appealed to me -- so much so that I had to dip into it last night. And, as long as I was being out of character, I skipped the beginning and picked a section in the middle that looked interesting. (And then I went back to the beginning. I'm not a savage).

As a counselor and a psychology instructor, I have a bit of a tendency to overcomplicate and overanalyze, especially when things aren't going well. (See the writing issues/excuses/rationalizations above). But reading those few pages last night opened a window and, this morning, the ideas just kept showing up.

Was there a magical solution in the pages of that book? Nope. Just a simple description of the writing life of a published author that sounded a lot like mine. Sit down to write. Get distracted. Get back to work. Get distracted again. Succumb to said distraction. Return to work. 

This author writes for a living, with established hours. There's no day job to work around -- this is her job -- and yet there's no magical productivity fairy who shows up and ensures that the books get written. She is the one who has to show up.

I don't know whether it was the sunshine, the walk, the book, or some combination thereof, but overnight, the simplicity of the solution became crystal clear.

Show up. Make it a habit. Accept that some days will be joyous and others will be frustrating because that's the way a job works, whether it's writing or teaching or acting or plumbing. 

And that is okay.

My day job, like pretty much everyone else's, is a mix of creativity and extroverting, drudgery and detail, all of which are draining. This is not a complaint or even an excuse (although I've definitely used it as the latter). It's a fact of life -- of my life.  

So, what am I gonna do about it? 

I'm going to show up. I'm going to do the simple thing I do for everything else I need -- or want -- to do. I'm going to put it on my list, slot it into my calendar, make an appointment with myself and keep it.

The thing is, it's not that hard to get back into a habit. 

At least not as long as you want to.

The Positives of Promotion

 Unlike most of my Way Back Wednesday posts, this one hasn't already appeared here. I wrote it almost ten years ago for an online publication. I'm not even sure if it actually ran, but I do know that right now, book promotion seems like a topic from way back, so that made it a good fit for today.

I'm one of those crazy writers who enjoys promotion. I don't like the time it takes away from working on my next book, but I decided early on that if I couldn't escape marketing and publicity (and I can't), I might as well have fun with those aspects of the author life. So, through a combination of research and experience, I've developed three rules for promoting a book.

• Make it novel -- no pun intended (well, maybe a little). I love bookstores. The fact that they're full of readers makes them a great, if predictable, place to have a book event. But they're also full of books, which means it can be hard for a newbie or independently published author to stand out. Choosing less typical locales for book events not only makes you (and your book) stand out, but it also keeps things interesting. How can you connect your book to an interesting place that might also attract readers who would appreciate your particular story?

• Make it meaningful. Anyone who knows me knows I love Starbucks, and my friends know that my local Starbucks has, at times, been my office away from home. So, when some of the work I created there made it into print, it seemed like a great place to have a party. (Sometimes it helps to be a regular). Not only did this plan fulfill rule #1 above, but the location (and the people who work there) meant something to me, which meant the whole event felt like a natural extension of who I am and what I love. Though I went on to have more signings and events, most of them lots of fun, the first one, held at my "home" Starbucks, remains special. When you think of celebrating your book, what small touch or simple detail would make the celebration meaningful for you?

• Make it fun. I figured out early on that if creating promotional events and ideas feels like drudgery to me, the events will feel like drudgery to attendees as well. Sure, I mumbled and grumbled as I was making up gift baskets for one of my harebrained schemes, but that was just my perfectionism rearing its ugly head. And I had to stifle a few groans as I added up the cost of the giveaways for my online launch party, but then I reminded myself how much fun I had coming up with prizes that complemented the book both thematically and visually. Everybody loves a good party. How can you make yours fun for you and your guests?

If you can remember that book parties, promotions, and events are meant to be celebrations and celebrations are meant to be fun, it makes it easier to embrace the publicity monster with both arms. And, when you stop to think about how much of yourself you pour into the creation of a book, can you think of anything better to celebrate?

Red and Tan, Funny and Serious

  Welcome back to my Friday Feature! As you might have noticed in my last Friday Feature post, I've finished reading some of the books I'm writing about, I'm in the middle of others, and have yet to start the rest. Sometimes, as in the case of this pile, the books are all in the same post because they look good together. Often, they also have something in common.

Whenever I travel, I try to visit a local, independent bookstore and make a purchase. Drift was purchased at Browseabout Books in Rehoboth Beach, DE, and Your Guide to Not Getting Murdered in a Quaint English Village was purchased at Inkwood Books in Haddonfield, NJ. 

I was traveling with my daughter when we came across Your Guide to Not Getting Murdered in a Quaint English Village, and it cracked both of us up, so I bought a copy to share with my daughter and a copy for a friend. It is, as you can imagine, an easy and humorous (if somewhat predictable) read, something it shares with the other red book in the pile, The Best of the Rejection Collection.

The Best of the Rejection Collection features cartoons rejected by The New Yorker and it's fun to pick up and page through. It's one of the books that has earned a place of honor on the table beside my chair in our  family room for exactly that reason. Some of the cartoons are cerebral, some are political, and some are a bit too racy for The New Yorker, but most are funny, something I appreciate more and more.

Rachel Maddow's Drift is the most serious book in this pile, and it's been on my TBR pile for a while now -- so long, that I'm not sure what attracted me to it in the first place (besides the author). I just started it a month or so ago, and don't yet have an opinion. While I am a fan of Rachel Maddow, I don't read a lot of history-related books, so we'll see if I make it to the end of this one.

What are you reading? Have you read any of these? Share your thoughts and/or recommendations in the comments :-)

Happy Birthday, Mom

@senivpetro via Freepik

Today is my mom's birthday. She spent most of her life concealing her age, so I won't tell you how old she would have been, but I will say that now, seven years after I wrote this post, my feelings haven't changed one bit. 

My mom passed away last summer after a courageous battle with the ugly demon that is cancer. She was brave and strong and stubborn from start to finish, and I was privileged to have her as my mom.

Most days, I feel brave and strong and stubborn but, some days, I miss her so much I can taste it. I miss her laugh and her hugs, our shared love of dinner reservations instead of dinner preparations, and hours on the phone spent talking about everything and nothing.

I miss her championing my creative pursuits, her certainty that in any production anywhere I was the best one on stage (unless my niece was in the show, in which case it would be a tie) and her fierce loyalty to those she loved.

What I miss most of all, though, is being able to tell her anything. When someone hurt my feelings, or made me angry, I could complain to my mom and she'd take my side -- so much so that I sometimes found myself defending the person I'd started out complaining about. If I was wrong or short-sighted, she'd let me know, but only after I'd finished whining about the unfairness of it all. I never had to worry about being judged or chided.

Or mature.

It's only now beginning to dawn on me that part of what I miss is the fact that, with my mom around, I never really had to be a full-fledged grown-up. It's overrated, this grown-up business.

I'm not very wise, but I am wise enough to know how blessed I was to have my mom for most of my adult life. I'm smart enough to be grateful for all that she gave me and taught me, as well as most of what she passed onto me by osmosis. I know that being with her and my dad as she fought a battle she didn't want to fight (perhaps the ultimate grown-up act) was a gift -- one that gave me a chance to say all the things I wanted to say, and to prepare myself for the inevitability of good-bye. 

My dad now lives less than ten minutes away from us; his relocation is the silver lining in the cloud that was losing my mom. He, too, is a cushion against full grown-up status, and I treasure the relationship we are nurturing in our new normal.

Dads are different than Moms, something that is both good and inevitable. As my dad and I move forward, knitted closer together by a loss neither of us wanted, we're deciding what to keep, what to discard and what to change, not only with respect to material possessions, but in our relationship as well. We haven't lived in the same zip code full-time since I moved out of my parents' house to go to college, back when I was barely a contender in the grown-up game.

The trouble with the grown-up game is that the rules are ever-changing. We think we're grown up when we move out, when we graduate from college, when we get our first job, when we get married, when we become parents. But each of these events merely shapes who we become; no one of them completely defines us or fully describes the joys and challenges that lay on the other side of these milestones.

Losing a parent is another milestone -- one no one wants to achieve. There's a hole in my life where my mom was -- one no one can fill. I don't mean that to be maudlin or sentimental -- it just is. Maybe that realization takes me one step closer to full grown-up status, or maybe it's merely an observation.

Either way, it doesn't make this grown-up business any less confusing.